


Far To Sea

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Spanking, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek needs Stiles to help him sometimes. Stiles does what's expected of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far To Sea

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: hold me. Or beat me. I deserve it from something I might have said. For Laraneia. Who is awesome.

Derek was leaning over the desk when Stiles shut the door behind him. He would make more out of the random and casual breaking and entering if Derek and he weren’t engaged in something that would make everyone blush. Even unshockable Erica.

Derek widened his stance, shifting his hips. He couldn’t ask Stiles, not with words. Instead Stiles would find him here, uncomfortable and on edge, only ever late at night. Normally it would be during what Stiles termed “quiet times” as opposed to the bone-shaking terror of “interesting times”. The quiet times were the sloughs between the sheer, life-threatening peaks that seemed inevitable when you lived in Beacon Hills, were best friends with a werewolf and were called Stiles Stilinski.

Talking of best friends, Stiles wondered how Scott did not realise that the bruises littering Stiles’ body weren’t the product of lacrosse practice. They were pretty fingerprint shape, especially the ones over his hips. Even Danny had given him this weirdly proud knowing look. Scott was also a fucking werewolf. He should be using his nose or something. But. Back to the point. Derek was here for a specific purpose when he leaned over the desk, legs apart, hips twitching. He’d be hard – or at least on the way to it – and he would know Stiles was standing watching him, but Derek wouldn’t do anything to either make Stiles move or to relieve himself. That wasn’t how this game was played.

Stiles locked the door. His dad was on a late shift which would stretch to a night shift with them still being short staffed in the station. No one else would be here. But it was still ingrained in him. He was about to do something here which he and Derek and would rather no one else would find out about. Stiles could feel his own excitement building too. There was no need to rush here. His own arousal burned in his veins, a distant constant presence that he ignored as he peeled off his hoodie and dumped it on the carpet. He also pulled off his t-shirt. Goosebumps prickled on his skin but he ignored that, chalking it up to anticipation rather than any lingering chill. Derek was fully dressed and still silent as Stiles stalked forward.

Another emotion joined the arousal. Or perhaps it added? Every time Derek asked for this – and he had to want it – Stiles would feel taller and stronger. It was ridiculous. Derek could break him in half – rip him in half – without even breathing heavily. Derek was stronger and faster and more powerful than Stiles could ever hope to be. But the fact he had chosen to turn over that power to Stiles, was letting him do it, see him this bare and vulnerable made the intimacy that they’d stumbled into mean something more. Or at least it did to Stiles. He wasn’t sure how Derek really felt. Words weren’t a big thing. More the kissing and fucking and, yeah, that was good. Derek would listen to Stiles talk but they never talked about anything important.

This was important.

Stiles felt the shudder go through Derek when he laid his hands on his back, near the waistband of his pants. Now he was closer, Stiles could see that Derek had unfastened his belt. He must be really in need… Perhaps Stiles should stop and ask what had brought Derek here, what memories or thoughts or pain. But instead he pushed Derek’s black t-shirt up under his armpits, exposing the edge of Derek’s tattoo. Then he tripped his fingertips down Derek’s spine until he reached that waistband and slid the pants down over the perfect curve of Derek’s ass. They dropped to the ground, pooling around Derek’s ankles. This always made Stiles shiver. Derek was mostly naked, endless tanned skin on show. But he was wearing enough clothing to make it strangely transitory, temporary. 

Tiny shudders were still travelling up and down Derek’s spine, making the muscles in his ass tighten as Derek waited for Stiles to start. However, it was difficult. Stiles could stand here and drink in Derek’s body, his smooth unscarred skin, the curve of steel muscles under silk. Derek was inhuman (yes, he was) but he was also inhumanly gorgeous. And that made Stiles want things he should not want. He was still coming to terms with that as he unbuckled his belt and slowly slid it out of the loops.

The first time they’d done this, Stiles had hit Derek with a wooden spatula thing. They’d been in his kitchen and Stiles had done it just to see what kind of reaction he’d get from Derek. He was always trying to get a reaction, whether it was a smile or a growl. Now he tended to tease for a kiss. But that was then. Stiles had hit him two, three times before Derek had stilled, eyes clearing for a moment. Then he’d returned to himself and torn the spatula from Stiles’ hand, thrown it across the kitchen and murdered a perfectly innocent melon.

Now Stiles knew what Derek wanted from him. His own jeans weren’t really in any danger of slipping off his narrow hips as he looped the belt and thrashed Derek’s ass. That sounded blunt and crude and horrid. Spanking was something too light, too playful though. The red welts vanished moments after Stiles’ belt landed, near instant, as Derek’s healing powers kicked in. That was why he had to adopt a steady rhythm, almost going to some place out of his own mind, like the loneliness of the long distance runner or some shit. But Derek was equally affected. The tiny shudders stopped and the taut tension of Derek’s stance. He dipped, closer to the desk, arms down to elbows as he endured the pain that wasn’t really pain.

Derek, in one of the few times they’d been honest enough to talk, had muttered something about it being like nails dragged up his back, like Stiles biting down hard. It had an edge of pain but it was so close to pleasure that Derek wasn’t sure where the line was. Stiles knew when to stop, though. His arm was beginning to tire a little, sure, but when Derek’s head finally fell to the desk, pillowed by his arms, and his knees buckled, Stiles knew he could drop the belt and help Derek over onto the bed.

It was kinda nice to strip Derek out of the rest of his clothes. His cock was hard and brushed against Stiles’ leg as he leaned over to untangle the t-shirt, leaving a wet mark on his jeans. Derek wasn’t smiling, exactly. Derek didn’t smile. He grinned, wicked and salacious and dirty. He grimaced. He bared his teeth. This wasn’t like that. This was a softness around his eyes, less worry and burden, as Stiles threw the t-shirt behind him, stroked his palms over Derek’s chest and down his legs to the restraint of the jeans around his ankles. 

Sometimes Stiles left Derek half restrained and sucked him off or jerked off and left him to work his own clothes off. The edge of humiliation was there, then. And Stiles had enough awareness to know he liked that. He liked seeing Derek brought down. He’d thought about asking him to wear panties, women’s underwear, and if Stiles ever had enough guts to go into Victoria’s Secret with Lydia on one of her mega-shopping trips where he carried the bags and told her she looked fabulous, he might be able to foist them on Derek. Tonight, though.

Tonight Derek had shuddered. He’d taken longer to drop. It had been over a week since they’d touched. Stiles didn’t want more pain, not tonight. 

He touched Derek’s ankle when he was done, Derek finally naked and laid out for him. Derek focused on him, slowly, dreamily. It only took a few moments to strip out of his own clothes, to grab the lube from his nightstand and to straddle Derek’s hips. Stiles tipped forward and kissed him, teasing at Derek’s lips with light, fluttering motions, not the dirty, deep tongue fucking they tended to go for. “Hold on to the headboard. Don’t break it.” Stiles didn’t want to explain that one to his dad.

Derek didn’t complain, reaching up. Stiles just had to take a moment to stroke the tendons and muscles standing proud, the curve of Derek’s chest. All that power and all that strength, turned over to Stiles for him to, well, enjoy. Not use. Use suggested making Derek do something he didn’t want to, for Stiles to become like Kate Argent or Peter. Stiles definitely didn’t want to be like them.

By the time he’d fumbled open the lube and had used Derek’s chest as a support while he’d spread his thighs wide and fingered himself open, Derek had let go of the headboard three times and grabbed it again without any prompting. Stiles rose up, really only half ready, and grabbed Derek’s cock. It was going to hurt, a little, as he slid down, letting gravity do most of the work. From the wild look in Derek’s eyes, he hadn’t been expecting this. It looked like his hands were about to come off the headboard again as Stiles rolled his hips, feeling Derek’s thick length splitting him in half. He would stop if Derek disobeyed, he decided, circling around, getting used to the intrusion. Derek’s hips shot up, a hard sudden thrust, but Stiles had been here often enough to expect it. He settled himself more firmly before reaching behind to grab hold of Derek’s thighs with both his hands.

Stiles couldn’t help imagining what Derek was seeing, Stiles split wide around his dick, the rise and fall of his hips, Stiles’ own cock blurting pre-come as he rode Derek for all he was worth. His rapidly heaving chest, the red flush that was no doubt working its way over Stiles’ skin. All Stiles could see was Derek’s face, his open mouth and the shocked look in his eyes that seemed unable to believe that Stiles was willing to do this with him.

That arousal that had been deep seated and low, like a banked fire, flared to life as Stiles pushed forward, unable to resist. He had to taste Derek’s mouth properly, finally giving into the urge to open his mouth wide, force his tongue between Derek’s teeth, licking and savouring. Derek gave as good as he got, opening up his thrusts too now Stiles was done holding his legs down. It was as much that as the sudden pressure of Derek’s abs on his sensitive cock that made Stiles come, hard. He could feel Derek moments behind him, shaking apart under him. Stiles kissed him through it.

With the heat of passion gone, Stiles felt cold and tired and kinda icky. His weariness was the bone deep kind that meant sleep wasn’t far away. He rolled off Derek after one final kiss, sweet and almost innocent, before fumbling for a shirt on the floor. Derek’s hands came free then, holding onto Stiles as he flailed on the edge of the bed, pulling him close and using the t-shirt to wipe Stiles clean first. 

They were wrapped in his duvet, Derek curled up against him, when Stiles finally felt he could ask. “Want to talk about it?”

Derek stiffened against him, as tense as he was when they’d begun. Then he seemed to consciously relax, muscle by muscle until he was lax and loose again. “Not today, Stiles.” He sounded regretful. “I’ll tell you, one day.” Derek moved until he could kiss at Stiles’ shoulder, lick his tongue over the freckles there. “One day,” he repeated, before settling down again.

Stiles should push, he knew. He should demand. He should claim that they might not live long enough for Derek to tell him what caused him to seek Stiles out and ask him to take over, to beat him and then to hold him. But instead he let himself fall asleep.


End file.
